


that's a pretty good idea (i'll give you the moon)

by ToAStranger



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 20:25:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8415538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToAStranger/pseuds/ToAStranger
Summary: And then you can swallow it.  It'll all dissolve and then the moonbeams can shoot out the tips of your fingers and your toes and the ends of your hair. orTony can talk for days about nothing, but some things he just can't say.





	

The light is grey.  The shade of it soft; gentle like early morning, like dew clinging to grass.  It casts long, blue shadows in the room, across the bed, across the pale white of the sheets.  The sun is somewhere beyond the horizon, early warmth easing slow but steady through the streets down below. 

Face pressed to a pillow, half folded up under his head, Tony hums out a tired breath.  His fingers trace idle shapes over the back of Bucky’s right hand.  He swirls the tip of one around the high ridge of Bucky’s middle knuckle, then chases it with another, making a slow organic path down the line of a tendon.  Bucky’s fingers twitch.  Cheek scrunched against cotton, Tony’s jaw aches.

There is a quiet crackle _drag_ of a needle over one slow record.  Bing Crosby croons about midnight streets and songs that remember.  Bucky watches Tony’s fingers, propped up on a metal elbow, head resting against an open palm warmed by the faint _thrum_ of energy underneath the plating and by his own skin.

His lips press thin as Tony traces a line down to the meet of his hand and around the jut of bone at his wrist. He takes a deep breath.

“Don’t say it,” Tony mumbles, half muffled against the pillow.  “If you don’t say it, it isn’t true.”

Bucky’s mouth curls into a lazy grin.  “Was just gonna say how pretty you are. Laying there like that.  Looking at me like that.”

“Sure you were.” Tony says, eyes flitting up to his before focusing back on the lines worn at Bucky’s wrist.  “There’s a full moon tomorrow.”

Bucky shifts; the sheets pool around his hips.  He’s naked. As naked as Tony is, laying on his stomach, curled so close that their knees brush when either of them breathe. 

It’s going to be a cold day.  Winter has settled in and made herself at home in the city.  Tony keeps talking about snow and ice skating at the Rockefeller.  The room has a chill to it that it hasn’t had all year.  Bucky keeps waiting for the heater to kick on in the middle of the night, but Tony says he likes it—says it’s his favorite part of this time of year, says he likes having to crawl out of the safe warmth of his bed into the shock of cold.  Doesn’t even bother with slippers on the wood floors.

“I have to go,” Bucky says.

Tony’s fingers falter, but then he traces a slow circle over Bucky’s wrist and taps the center of it.  “I know.”

“It’s almost morning.”

Tony sighs, but it’s soft.  Like he was letting out a breath he’d been holding; like relief. 

“I know,” he says.  “Gotta get the ball rolling.  World doesn’t save itself.”

Bucky’s lips press thin again, his hair falling in his face as he drops his hand away.  “Tony—“

“You ever see that old movie?  The black and white one?”

Bucky blinks.

“You know, all family cheer and angels and ghosts of Christmases past?” Tony’s gaze darts up to his, fingers drumming against Bucky’s pulse.

“Tony,” Bucky frowns.  “You don’t have to say it—“

“Wonderful life?” Tony’s mouth purses and he rolls slightly, on his side, and in the growing light of morning, Bucky can see the scattering of scars over his chest, along his ribs, white lines scattered in stark contrast with the tan of his skin.  “It’s a wonderful life?”

Sighing, Bucky lets tentative fingers card through the mess of hair at the top of Tony’s head.  “With James Stewart?”

Tony snaps his fingers.  “That’s the one.”

“I’ve seen it.  Couple of times.” Bucky admits.  “Where are you going with this?”

Somewhere, the needle hitches and falters.  There is just the sound of it dragging over the record, and then a _click_.  An old blues tune drifts through the room.  Something soft and slow. 

Bucky wants to lean down.  Wants to kiss away that little twitch at the corner of Tony’s mouth.

“The moon is full tomorrow,” Tony repeats.  “I’d like to lasso it down.  Give it to you.”

A crease forms between Bucky’s brows.  For a moment, he thinks Tony might be serious. 

Tony’s throat works.  His eyes flit over Bucky’s face, and he wets his lips when it seems he doesn’t find quite what he’s looking for.  Something in Bucky’s chest stalls.

“Oh.”

Tony huffs, twisting over and sitting up until the covers that had been draped haphazardly over him roll away.  Bucky tries not to get distracted.

“Let’s not make a big deal of this,” Tony says.  “Let’s just—“

Sitting up, Bucky reaches for him.  Grabs him.  Tugs him close until he can press his lips to a spot just beneath Tony’s right eye.  Tony shivers, eyes fluttering shut.

“I love you,” Bucky says.  Not for the first time that night.

Tony makes a strangled sound.  “I told you not to—“

“I don’t care that you can’t say it back.” Bucky kisses his cheek, taking one of his hands, metal fingers dancing at Tony’s nape.  “I don’t need you to.  You already did.”

“ _Bucky_.”

“I don’t know about lassoing the moon,” Bucky adds.  “But I’ll take whatever else you wanna give me, doll.”

“Don’t call me doll.”

Sinatra starts singing low and slow about strangers in the night.  Tony’s fingers tangle with Bucky’s.  He’s smiling; it’s contagious.

“Did you expect this?  Did someone warn you?”

Bucky presses his nose to Tony’s temple.  “Didn’t have to.  Had me thinking ‘bout throwing rice since the second I saw you, but I’m not a fool, Tony.  Never thought I’d have this, let alone the moon.”

Laughing, short and breathy, Tony turns his face.  Their foreheads touch. 

“I’d give it to you, if you wanted it.” Tony croaks.  “Whatever you wanted.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.  I know what you mean.” Bucky kisses him then, long and slow, and he does know.  “Stevie’ll kick my ass if I’m late again.”

“I’ll evict him.”

Bucky barks out a laugh.  “I love you.”

Tony’s throat works again.  The sky outside is pink and purple and brightening slow. 

“I know.”

“Good.”

“You know?”

“I know,” Bucky kisses him again.  “Breakfast?”

“Pancakes.”

“I can do that.”

They crawl out of bed.  Tony throws a pair of socks Bucky’s way.  He knows he hates how cold the floor is.  Bucky catches them one hand, and he knows. 

Outside the sun is rising.


End file.
